It was about two days, pushing hard, from Brecklund to Elco. ’Te continued the associate’s education, making sure to subtly favor Xiachoram in terms of affection, but likewise give slightly more important assignments to Xiachoii. He could remember the bad old days. He was absolutely sure they had spotted the differences and spent hours trying to pick apart their significance.
Elco was sort of the spiritual cousin of Brecklund, just the other side of a couple of thick mountain ranges. That is to say, there wasn’t much to it, and what there was of it, wasn’t much either. The exhausted, paranoid and increasingly dependent associates were given the same job as before- find out what’s coming. But first, dinner and a bath.
The Sky Runners had cleared out of Elco a week ago. ’Te had a hard time blaming them. Elco was hardly worth a table in the first place. Its sole virtue was that it was on the other end of a relatively high traffic pass through the Ramparts between Red Mountain and Cold Garden. Not the only east-west pass through the Ramparts, of course, but there really weren’t all that many that were usable on a commercial scale. Or large scale military, when you got down to it.
’Te looked around appraisingly. Elco was set in the shadow of Fat Tree Mountain, and strictly speaking, not even the mountain proper. Elco was more properly described as shamefully glommed to the side of its foothills. He didn’t know much about military fortification, but this struck him as a usable landscape. It would not be the worst idea to lock down either, or both, ends of this pass. Especially with raiders and the Collective rolling up from the south.
“Not that even a five thousand man garrison would hold this place against a determined Collective assault.” He muttered. The Collective hired out their standing military as mercenaries when it wasn’t in active use for the Collective. They were well trained, well equipped, highly disciplined, and comparatively cheap. The only downside was that, well, if you stopped paying them and wanted them to go away… no promises. The Collective believed in dealing firmly with “Parasites.”
’Te was of the private opinion that the only things capable of seriously slowing down the First and Fourth Pioneers would be the Langpopo and their worryingly sophisticated armaments, deployed in serious quantities. Or the Sea Folk, of course. It would be interesting to see how the notoriously prickly Collective managed that particular relationship. But either way, Cold Garden would be caught in the middle, and without secure communications to Red Mountain, the core of the Five Cities Alliance would be shattered.
’Te’s usual room just so happened to be available at the inn. Because the owner directly evicted the caravaneer that had mistakenly believed that it was his room. ’Te didn’t have to say anything. His valet didn’t have to say anything, beyond “Expert Xiatokte wants his usual room.” The innkeeper knew what she should do, and did it. A detail also noticed by the associates.
It was the day of the Ceremony of Invitation and Bondage, a name which had been subjected to every possible joke, and yet remained. Xiatoktok was firmly, loudly, of the opinion that a full blown religious and civic ceremony for the taking of a new concubine was ridiculous. Most of the other forms of concubinage just made do with filing some paperwork and maybe a bit of a welcome party. Possibly a nice bracelet or something. But no. No, his blessed wife, the true and genuine love of his life, had insisted on a full blown, no holds barred Call to the Blood concubinage. Which meant that, as he was now much, much richer and much, much more powerful than when he married Xiatokja, Gentian’s Ceremony was going to blow ‘Ja’s wedding ceremony out of the water. Even on a week’s notice. And ’Ja seemed worryingly into that.
It turned out that ’Ja had already made some bookings. Gentian’s dress had already been cut and fitted. The Ritualist had been booked for a month. She just didn’t know the name of the celebrants, until recently. Catering was no problem either, given ‘Ja’s control of the greenhouses. She even had a stack of invitations engraved, with more being churned out by the hour. They were being sent out up to the last minute. Literally.
“A small, intimate ceremony, with a few suitable guests.” ’Ja said with bubbly enthusiasm.
“Four hundred guests.”
“All very suitable. A real who’s who of Cold Garden and immediate environs. I would have waited a month and pulled in everyone between the ocean and the Mud Dragon River, but I am worried you will weasel out somehow.”
“Were worried?”
“I said what I said.”
“Love you too, ’Ja.”
She kissed him hard on the mouth, scandalizing the staff hanging the bunting in the hall.
The trumpets rose with the sun, wailing, brassy, dissonant, until the drums picked up. First wood, then tanned goat hide warmed by bonfires through the night. Finally steel drums, high and thrilling, called the cacophony to order. Banners were raised, The Xia stitched in gold on white, banners of fertility, of joy, of blessings. Leading them was Xiatoktok’s personal banner, his name written by his own hand. A privilege reserved for only one bearing the generation name.
Behind the banners came the drums and trumpets, and behind them came a carriage of immaculate white and gold, pulled by six immaculately white cheves. The streets had been scrubbed until the cobblestones shone, so that not a speck of dust or mud could stain the procession. Behind the carriage marched lantern bearers, celebrants, honor guards on their jet black steeds, lances shining coldly in the pale light.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The parade marched through the noisy streets, the Throng out in force and cheering wildly. A city of mostly monogamists, they didn’t really understand what was going on. All they knew was that the big Xia boss had lost his damn mind for a local girl, and that meant a party. And the Joyful Throng knew how to party. Some played their own instruments, or broke into song. A few Chanticleers lead their neighbors in hymns of celebration. Just to stay in the spirit of things. The Chanticleers still held a grudge.
At the end of the route stood a bonfire, and before the bonfire stood a figure, covered in a long hooded cloak. Attending them were a pair of ancients, man and woman. At each cardinal direction stood a guard, armored in steel and armed with halberd and melter. As the procession came close to the bonfire, a guard stepped forward and stopped them.
“Who Comes? Who Comes? Who Comes, and What business have you here?”
“We come for her! We come for her! We come for her who renews us!” The procession roared back.
“Who Comes? Who Comes? Who Comes, and Why should she go?” The Guard yelled.
“Gold and silk! Gold and silk! Gold and Silk we bring, and she shall be reborn!”
“Who Comes? Who Comes? Who Comes with honeyed words!”
“Eternal Xia, Glorious Xia, Blessed Xia Call Her to the Blood!” The parade shouted, yelled, hammered their drums and blew away the clouds with their trumpets.
“Come! Come! Come to the Xia!” They chanted wildly.
Gentian pulled off her cloak. She dressed simply, humbly, in plain cottons and dull colors. The Parade pretended they couldn’t see her.
“Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?” The parade cried.
“I am here! I am here! Gentian is here!” Her voice carried loud and proud over the parade.
“Where is she? Where is she? Where is Gentian?”
“I am here! I am here! Gentian is here!” She called back.
“Where is she? Where is she? Where is Gentian?” The parade made a point of looking everywhere but directly in front of them.
Gentian flung the cloak onto the bonfire, and it went up in a ten meter sheet of blinding white flame. Her dress transformed in the sudden heat, veins of gold spreading down from her shoulders, the glory of her curls flew about her.
“I am here! I am here! Gentian answers the Call of the Blood!”
The celebrants in the parade lost it- the drums thundered wildly, trumpets blaring, the crowd, the Joyful Throng, screaming with surprise and delight. The footmen leapt off the back of the carriage and unrolled a spotlessly white carpet from the carriage door to Gentian’s feet. The two ancients knelt down beside her. She lifted her right foot, and the old man removed the shoe. Her perfectly clean bare foot sunk into the deep pile of the carpet. The old woman did the same for the left. The shoes were tossed into the fire behind her. Gentian never looked back, as she calmly walked to the carriage. Chin up, shoulders back, a queen in fire and blood, walking a stainless road.
The Ritual Hall was packed, the guests sitting happily and the deep rugs covering the room. The Ritualist stood on a raised dais with the altar behind them. On either side of the Ritualist was Xiatoktok and Xiatokja, blooming in gorgeous, shimmering robes who’s color transformed with the tiny rivulets of radiation that flowed over them. Through the nave came Gentian, proudly decked in her bewitching dress, bare feet seeming to float along the path of white and gold before her. The music swelled in adulation, welcoming her. She stopped just before the dais, as the ritual began.
The Ritualist called the room to order, and ordered all malicious spirits to give way, and all blessed spirits to pay attendance upon this renewal of the Xia. He led a quick hymn, read the homily, and keeping the commendably brisk pace, called Gentian to the altar.
“What brings you here, Stranger?” Asked the Ritualist.
“I was called for.”
“Who called you?”
“We did.” Chorused Xiatokja and Xiatoktok.
“And why did you call her?”
“To renew the Blood of the Xia. To keep us strong. For the glory of our eternal line.” They spoke as one.
“What do you offer, Stranger?”
“I offer my blood, to sweeten the Clan.” Gentian removed a woven hemp bracelet from her left hand, and tossed it into the ceremonial brazier on the altar. “I offer my time, unique and precious.” She tossed the hemp bracelet from her right wrist into the brazier. “I offer my obedience, for strength comes from unity.” She removed the hemp necklace from around her throat and threw that into the fire too. “I offer myself, totally, freely, and unencumbered.”
“And you, who have Called her to the Blood. What do you offer in return?”
“We offer our blood, its strength immeasurable.” They spoke with one voice, but it was Xiatokja who bound Gentian’s left wrist to her right with a golden cuff. “We offer our time, deep and endless.” Xiatoktok was proud that his hands didn’t shake, as he bound Gentian’s right wrist to his left. “We offer our leadership, that you may eternally prosper.” The two lifted a necklace of gold and pearls and hung it around Gentian’s neck. “We offer an eternity by our side.”
“Approach, Stranger. Mix your blood with the Xia, and be a stranger no more. The Ritualist held the chalice and the ceremonial knife. He passed it thrice through the flames of the brazier, then carefully slit their fingertips to let a few droplets of blood fall into the ceremonial wine. The chalice was swirled thrice, gently, and handed to Gentian. Because of the cuffs, all three of them had to hold the chalice together, lift it together. Gentian drained the chalice dry.
“Welcome, welcome, new blood. Face the Clan and declare yourself!”
The three of them turned and faced the crowd, Gentian standing as the pivot as they turned around her.
“I am Xiatokja, scion of the Blood, and I declare this Gentian is of the Clan!”
“I am Xiatoktok, First of my Generation, and I declare this Gentian is of the Clan!”
“I am Gentian, Called to the Blood. I am Xia now and forever!”
Xiatokja and Xiatoktok let their time flow through Gentian, letting it resonate within her. This was usually a routine boast by the family taking in the concubine, a display of strength and power.
A silent ripple of time rolled out. Even the guests, those not of the blood felt… something. The Xia felt a great deal more. They felt the time, as far as their senses could reach, grow stagnant, then start falling towards her. Gentian, it seemed, was more than just a beauty. Xiatoktok and Xiatokja felt their hungry looks. They tasted the Clan’s envy. And they smiled.